


Anticipation

by theholychesse



Category: Original Work
Genre: A few moments of almost smut is in there, Bad Ending (Or a Good One depending on who you ask), Child Abuse, Delight in my sin people, Do not be fooled by the cutsy blurb or cutsy first bits this is nasty, F/M, I know like 2 people will read this but this was just so sad looking sitting in my Word, Tho it aint as nasty as that BillDip fic thats still in the works, Toxic Relationships, whoop there it is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-09
Updated: 2015-06-09
Packaged: 2018-04-03 15:13:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4105522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theholychesse/pseuds/theholychesse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From the moment Jasper Kinders saw Bernard Swanson, she knew he was the one. She'd looked upon him, nary a few seats away, she watched his fingers drum against the meat of his thigh, and watched him blow away traitorous strands of hair that invaded his vision, and tickled his sharp nose.</p><p>He was the one, and since she first laid eyes on him, she wasn't ever going to let go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anticipation

From the moment Jasper Kinders saw Bernard Swanson, she knew he was the one. She'd looked upon him, nary a few seats away, she watched his fingers drum against the meat of his thigh, and watched him blow away traitorous strands of hair that invaded his vision, and tickled his sharp nose. He positively glew with tepidness, with unshakable cool and calm, and yet, just in the corner of who he was, she could sight a small, hunched thing, that wept with inferiority.

 

Bernard was a beautiful thing, but yet, so was Jasper. Whereas he was tall, and slim, and lacking any sort of glaring, haughty muscle that many a man would have, she was short, and plump, like a stout pear compared to his looming stickbug-figure. His cheekbones were sharp, and so were his striking eyes, while she was homely and round, with eyes a soft, earthly sanguine. When his eyes would skim across her, in a calculated motion to ensure he could assess her and deem her to be hostile or not and then flit his gaze away to another, she matched his glance, and they locked gazes for half a beat, before he looked away, a hand rising to curl the cartilage of his ear-lobe in a gesture that she, with delight, recognised as embarrassment.

 

She'd smiled then, her cheeks curling and her brilliant teeth shining, and turned her gaze back to their teacher, their home room teacher, a slight woman of aging years, but with stern eyes that warned of her ire. She wouldn't be too much of an obstacle. Jasper had always been good with women (and men) like her, and when her name was called out, she'd straightened her spine, looked dead at Mrs. Marris' eyes, and replied with a polite and demure, “Here, ma'am.” The teacher's eyes had wrinkled in approval, and the way she crossed out Jasper's name with a bit of an extra, subconscious,  flair made Jasper's heart leap and then purr in satisfaction.

 

The next break she had, she approached all of her future classmates, and made sure to bow her head, hunch her features, and give just the tiniest glimpse of her bare neck in submission to them. All this was slight, and  wouldn't be registered consciously, but from then on, people would deem her harmless, and womanly, and would look over her as if she was nothing more than the lockers by her shoulders. This suited her fine. But, to _him_ , she'd wringed her hands, and avoided his gaze, shuffled her feet and introduced herself quickly, but politely. Bernard had stared, bemused, up until she'd excused herself with a stutter, and he'd looked away, staring at his arm like it had offended his mother.

 

Even now, as she sits, a few months later after the new term had started, she still feels the flutter of anticipation in her chest, and the giddy breathlessness that overtakes her if she finds him alone, and the itch in her digits to curl her fingers around the few curves of his flesh, and make him hers, for the rest of time. Each time this urge would come, she'd bite her cheek, stare at her tidy nails, and thought of other things, like Mother. Her spindly fingered mother, who used to coo at her, low and gentle, even as her nails dug into Jasper's wrist. Garnet Kinders, née  Amastrine, had been a soul that taught Jasper much, and even as she sat in a senior's home deteriorating in both mind and body. Jasper admired her.

 

Jasper approached, sliding next to Bernard in a smooth motion, before her cheeks alit, and she took pleasure in the fact that he'd lowly flushed, just a touch of pale pink dusting his  cheeks, and had looked away, even if it was for a moment. Jasper had been chipping through his defences over the months, and delighted in her succeeding, amusing hunt, even as she also lamented over the possible fact that, perhaps, her prize at the end wouldn't be entirely as glorious as she envisioned it.

 

She shook such thoughts out of her brimming, thrumming skull, before piping up, in a tone more confident and yet more timid than she had used at the beginning of the year. “Hey, B-Bernard, would it, um--Would it, um, be alright if I sat with you and the, and the guys at lunch?” Clearly, she'd captured his interest, as he had half turned to her, eyes jumping from her to the halls, but still he leaned against the wall, waiting for his friends that still had class. “It's just that, well, Madison and me had a fight, and, and well then Beau had backed her up, and Jamie didn't _really_ had a choice--” Her eyes rolled in her skull, and she spat off words like she would spit apologies.  “Then so now I don't really want to talk to them, cause, cause, like Madison had said that I am _such_ a--” A hand at her shoulder stopped her manic rambling, and she found bony fingers holding her, before they had retreated, a worried tone in his eyes but sternness in his voice.

 

“You don't have to give me the details, Jas'. What happened between you and Mads is between you and her, and, while I'll be glad to consult you 'bout anything--” He'd licked his lips, and, without thought, had rubbed the fingers of his left hand against his right forearm, causing a tingling warmth at the back of Jasper's neck. She'd leaned in, wide eyed, all ready to listen what he had to say, and she found his nervous swallow at her motions to cause all of her senses to rejoyce. “--Just, uh, don't wanna backstab Mads, or anything, alright?” With a click of his tongue, he'd stood up properly, and approached his loud, booming friends, glancing back at Jasper to make sure she followed, and she found that as much of permission as she could squeeze out of him. So far, at least.

 

Rightfully, his friends were curious, and pressed into her bubble of space, and she resisted the urge to curl her lip in disgust and instead smiled shyly at them, tucking a strand of droopy hair behind an ear, and told them what she'd told Bernard, minus the names. He'd noticed that, she knew, and would found questions prickling at the forefront of his brain, but she'd cast a glance at him that was apologetic and reserved, and he'd huffed, shaking his head. He knew what the rest of them didn't, and no doubt, he'd think he was special. He was, and she'd voice this much, much later, as now, he wasn't nearly as enamored with her as he needed to be. He didn't crave her smell, or her touch, and didn't feel fire in his veins when she would see her smile, not like he was supposed to. Bernard was hers, hers for the rest of time, and he was special, and hers, and hers, and hers, and hers, and hers _hers hers hers **hers**_ \--

 

Jasper cleared her mind, and banished such unrighteous thoughts away. A proper woman is not supposed to have such thoughts, she reminded herself, she's supposed to want being _owned,_ and that's why, when Bernard takes her wrist to lead her away, after lunch, she bends so easily, and stoops her head so. His little complex would, for once, swell with pride at her mannerisms, and she would melt his icy heart all the quicker. He said he wanted her to meet his sister, a few classes down, as he's sure they share the same interests, and, hey, isn't having more friends better than just a few, he'd said, something barely resembling warmth in his cheeks, and running down his neck, coiling around a spot under his the bone of his sternum.

 

Jasper loved stones, loved the earth under her fingers, and gemstones curled around her plump features, making her look like an elegant, mighty dame, and people knew this, people knew this when her eyes would light up as Mr. Harris would talk about igneous rocks, or iridium laced stones, or precious gems that glittered brilliantly and lively when held up to the light. She was always mesmerized by gems, especially her mother's heavy, drooping garnet earrings that she would wear when out, and even more so by her gifted jasper necklace, those dull, semi-precious stones that sat like several red eyes, on the empty space between her breasts and her neck every other Sunday.

 

Apparently, Bernard's younger sister, Jasmine, shared a similar like, and, well, if this simply wasn't meant to be, then the whole world was surely a lie.

 

“Don't the eighth graders have class right now?” She asked, nursing her lip and her gaze leaping, like a rambunctious frog, from place to place, from person to person, before landing and attaching to the back of Bernard's kept and short hair. They had stopped, his fingers barely a lock around her wrist, weak, and unsure, but the longer her fingers stayed limp, the more confidence he would gain, up until the moment he held her wrist like he would his sister's, tightly, and securely, with just the barest, tiniest, most weakest hint of affection. If there weren't dozens of curious eyes and ears  planted on her, she would laugh, if only to relieve some of that building, bubbling, warm mirth in her chest, threatening to swallow her whole.

 

“They do.” He answered, truthfully and without a tone. “But that doesn't mean my sister isn't taking bathroom breaks or anythin', right?” They turned around the bend in the corridor, where the foul smelling toilets beckoned, wafting their most intriguing smells of perfume, filth, and urine throughout the atmosphere of the rooms nearby. Like two sentries, they stood, and waited, with him checking the clock every minute or so, while looking more and more uncomfortable as time ticked on, looking increasingly apologetic. It had exploded when he'd noticed that his grip on her had persisted, and tore himself away like burned, and scanned her expression for any hurt and discomfort, and when finding none, he'd looked away, ears ruddy.

 

“Are you sure she's, she's, that she's going to come soon?” Jasper asked, when it was half past one. Her rump was going numb from leaning against the wall for an extended period of time, and Bernard all but jumped at her sudden words, and swiftly built up his walls and expression back. “I mean, we have class in ten minutes and--Uh, I don't think we ought to miss it, right?” He was more than two meters away already, and seemed to grow even more distant as she went on and on.

 

“She's going to come. Jazz's got the bladder of a squirrel, and she always takes bathroom breaks, at least 3 a day, and it's always this one 'cause there's the most mirrors which she can use to fix up her make-up. It's about time for that,  about one fifteen, but she's not..” He stops himself before he could dig himself into a deeper hole, and doesn't seem in the least surprised when Jasper probes him, a particular glimmer in her eye, and a carefulness in her body and stance.

 

“That's, well, a, a, an almost creepy level of knowledge about your sister, B-Bernard.” She said, stating the obvious. He quickly retaliated with a look and opens his mouth, but she beats him, “Well I'm guessing you're, uh, just worried for her, right? I mean, I haven't met her but--” She's heard things. They all have. About Sofie Raja, and Marianne Hermanos, and about Jasmine Swanson. Trouble makers, hopping in and out of various detentions, and hopping in and out of holding cells, bailed out each time by Sofie's rich mother and father. That's part of the reason why Jasper was so surprised, was Jasmine _really_ interested in Geology, while at the same time tongue-whipping poor, gritting teachers? “--Yeah.”

 

Apparently so, if Bernard's expression is any indication. He'd give the world for her, he knew, and she knew she'd have to fight tooth and nail to fight over that, fight over him, and claim him as her own. But she was all too willing to do that, in fact, she looked _forward_ to that, she looked forward to verbally sparring with Bernard, with the infamous Jasmine, she looked forward toward careening her neck, tilting it, as if to expose her tantalizing flesh, but then take it away, and show her feet, and show her fiery, intangible rage. She’s looking forward to smearing the petty girl into the sidewalk, and not leaving not even the barest semblance of what Jasmine had been. Or, perhaps, she thinks, with a swirling joy in her lower gut, as Bernard looks away, and mumbles just the smallest, simplest apology, she doesn't even have to do that.

 

The end result of that day, is being 10 minutes late to class, with Miss. Malon tapping the sole of her feet against the floor, and smacking her lips in exacerbation, especially at the excuse Jasper makes. “Honestly, we just got lost.” Jasper had defended, keeping Bernard close. “It's all my fault, ma'am, I'm sorry, but me and my friend simply got carried away in the library, and the halls and--I suppose you know the deal, ma'am.” The last words were muttered lowly, and she played with the hem of her skirt, and with a tired  but still fond smile, the teacher, the Detention Happy Witch of St. Andreas, had excused them and didn't promise any punishment, much to the awe and amazement of Bernard. Or, at least, that's what Jasper told herself, as she felt the pinpricks of his stare at the back of her head.

 

So this is what victory tastes like, she thought, as euphoria clouded her mind like the heady bitterness of wine, and her blood sang a bellowing paean.

 

It's nice.

 

She comes home that day, to her silent, cold, slimy father, and his equally cold and slimy meals, and finds herself caring less about her home and what she lacks, for, she knows, that the time will be soon when she will have all that she ever could need. She tells herself she will finally feel giddy joy, a joy she’s never really had before,  pumping through her veins when all that is in her vision is Bernerd, her apple of sin, wide eyed and panting, mind crammed full of neurotransmitters, and all ready and eager for the plucking.

 

From then on, she and Bernard spend a lot of time together. She begins to eat lunch only with him and his friends, she walks to the bus stop with him, and she brushes her hands against his, every once in a while, and delights in the increasing shades of red that his face wears, of how his blusters increase, and how the tenderness in his eyes swells like the moon day by day. She begins to whisper to him, during his most private moments, how she doesn't approve of his friends, about the meanings behind how hard they thump him on the back when they see him, how they look at him when he thinks he isn't looking, how they look at her, and see nothing than a conquest, and one that must be shared amongst the 'pack' as well, if only to maintain the current sense of order and hierarchy. It’s easy, for he’s already pregnant with paranoia.

 

When his sister comes home, battered but glowing with pride, and with the smell of weed, cigerettes,  and alcohol around her, Jasper's the one to whisper hate and bitterness into Bernard, while sitting close, and letting him drink her essence in. She's the one who listens to him, as he rants about Jasmine, she's the one who sits, breath bated, as years of trust and love is shattered over the period of a few, dreadfully short months. Sometimes, Jasper is awed by what she can do, but then she considers what she is, and finds herself less surprised and more approving.

 

When he comes to her, wet eyed, and flushed, with bruises on his arms and chest in the shape of an adult fist, she spreads her arms, and beckons him closer, into the center of her warmth, and with a gentle, cooing voice, says that he is worth much more than what his mother says he is, what his father's blows say he is. She bats her eyelashes at him, and sees how he inches towards her, towards her heart, and core, how his breath slows in her presence, but how his heart races, and how the itch to hold her grows, as she worms herself into every corner of his life.

 

And she delights in every part of it. She delights in the fact that his stubbornness, and rebellious thoughts, bring upon more bruises than what is usual on his thin, pale body, and delights that he comes to her even more, like a tamed pup, and lets her hold his head below the waters of her presence, lets her drown him in her droning, gentle voice, and that he doesn't even care about clinging to his cool any longer, and attaches himself to her, like the male anglerfish to the female, and refuses to let go to the point where it feels like they are a sole entity.

 

It's soon to be prom night. The air is warm with the creeping claws of summer, and the bleariness of winter is long gone, only to be replaced by the coming joy of summer, and of freedom from school, the much loathed nemesis of the common teen. Jasper has the perfect dress selected, and she had bought some of it with the cash she's made in her part time job, and the other she hopes to extort from her loveless father. It hugs her figure like a grabby boy and drags and swoops onto the floor, and is a brilliant and proud red, with cerise and pitch coral studded into the low-cut hem.

 

When she had tried it on, she felt simultaneously joy and guttural disgust in the way her father's eyes crawled over her flesh, roamed over her shoulders and waist and hips, and stopped to admire her curves, almost worshipping them with his fleeting lust. A revolting lecher, if she's ever met one, lazy and hateful and senile too. She can't ever understand why mommy dearest, the one who would teach her how to hurt and how it feels to be hurt, would marry and be impregnated by this beast of a man, why she let it be a girl whom she gave birth to, and left her in the custody of a foul, loveless, but not lustless man. He helps her buy it, with no question, but, yet again, perhaps his attention isn't fully on the four figure sum written on the receipt.

 

As expected, a week before prom, just days after she buys the dress, Bernard approaches her. That isn't rare in and out of itself, as he comes to her every day now, looking forward to being with her, and expression always like she'd become the visage of kindness and salvation herself. But now, when he came, he was knotted with nerves, and practically tripped over his own feet 4 different and distinct times, and looked like he wanted to bolt and pounce at her at the same time, with different parts of his body wanting to do these different things.

 

Jasper swelled with pride, momentary, before deflating. She knew she had to keep in character, she couldn't stray from what Bernard knew her to be, but yet, she found herself wondering what would really happen if she just..Stopped. Perhaps soon, very, very soon she can, but not now, not when he stuttered out all his words, played with the cartilage of his ears, and tried to discreetly wipe the sweat on his palms off on his jeans.

 

Not when she looked at him, and could see the affection rolling off him in waves, threatening to suffocate her in a strangling wave of rose love and lust, that, perhaps could be compared to the threat of a moving gas cloud, swallowing all that comes into it's path, no matter the creature. He came to her, and as she turned, wide eyed and innocent, oblivious to what he wanted, she knew a new thrill and a new sense of power would overcome him, and, apparently, that was the case if his bobbing Adam's apple and blown pupils was any kind of indication.

 

“D' ya, ya, you--Do you--” He blustered, and each time he would trip over his words, Jasper would work more and more confusion into her expression, but, also, the festering seeds of a blush. She watched him work through various beginnings, and various scripts, and she swore that she saw inked words etched his hand, which would be glanced at every once in a while.  “I, I'ya, just, damn, do you, ya, come on Bernie-- _Do ya wanna go to prom with me?_ ” Bernard blurted, at long last, and seemed half surprised that he had managed it so fluently.

 

For a moment, all was so silent, that even the low crackle of a stuttering flame a mile away could have been able to be heard. In that moment, Bernard's expression went from fearful, to hopeful, to a painful looking anxious, to a basal, primal terror as Jasper's expression stayed the same. Already, his mouth had opened in apology, and the corners of his eyes prickled with incoming wetness, before Jasper had lurched forward, wrapped herself around him, and let out a strangled, “Yes.” Before burying her face, and her beaming, victorious grin, into his chest at those euphonious words. “Of course I do, you clueless, slow wonder of nature.”

 

Bernard, for the longest time, didn't seem to do anything. This, really, was as much of an confession that she would get out of him, and he out of her. They both knew what was being left unsaid, and it hung in the air, but yet, no one reached up to taking that fattening cloud, and use it for what it’s worth. No, certainly Bernard was happy with this, given how, merely a beat later, he’d hunched over her, fingers tangled in her brown strands like he was afraid she’d slip away, and inhaled, shaking, and seconds later, she felt moisture at the top of her head, and was aware of the hitching his chest was doing.

 

Like a smug cat, she purred, reaching her arms all around him, and tangling herself up in his spindly arms, rubbing his back, and listening to each and every little blissful reaction he made. She was so close. She was _so_ close, that she could almost taste it on the very edge, tip, of her tongue, and she could already sense the pressure that would come when, after it would be done, rain, and petrichor would arrive, weaving into her very being.

 

Bernard must really be a idiot, if he couldn’t sense the dichotomy here, couldn’t feel the palpable tension, couldn’t smell the redolence, this particular redolence, in the air. He must really be an idiot, or, she mused, hours later as her fingers played with his hair, his head on her lap, and his fingers holding her thigh like a life-line, in love. She tilted her head, and wanted to do nothing than laugh.

 

Prom night came, and when she had stepped out of her father’s car, her father’s green, envious gaze on the impeccably dressed boy squinting into the tinted windows of the car, Bernard looked like the heavens had opened up, and she had come out. And, Jasper thought, it was as it should be. She was better dressed than half of the people here, with expensive droplets of amber and garnet in her hair, and her undeniable charm, regardless of her unfashionable weight, caused many a man and a woman to stare, and while Bernard bristled at each one who _dared_ look at his woman, she glew, and her cheeks flushed a tyrian colour, even as she held tightly to his arm.

 

He wasn’t bad looking too, with (stolen) diamond cufflinks, and a tailored, expensive and well fitting suit matching the dark blue of his eyes, with a (stolen) burgundy tie, with a Eldridge knot, sitting like a decoration for his sternum, matching Jasper’s petite, but luminous Carnelian necklace.

 

There’s nothing better in the world than wealth, and pleasure, and perhaps she is a hedonist, but she still lavishes in the fact that they ooze both, even as Bernard’s old friends approach, and timidly titter, before fleeing by an annoyed glance made by Bernard. He immediately turns to her, almost a child, looking for approval, and finds it in the way her fingers grip his hands tighter, and how her smile turns so bright that it could light up the room all by itself.

 

When they dance, in a crowd full of lessers, and useless creatures, his hands are high on her back, but in a fluid movement, she slides his hands down to her lower waist, and makes them stay there. She could swear that if his cheeks would be cut off, he’d immediately be exsanguinated, for there’s so much blood painting his head red, all the way from the ears, down to his neck.

 

Quite certainly, she wants to prick his skin, lean forward, and clean all of his pristine blood off his not-so pristine face. Every teen has acne, after all, even the ones Jasper chooses. And, _oh_ , Bernard was chosen. Bernard was _cultivated_ for god's sakes, she’d used up her year so, for one, sole, express purpose, she’d used up her valuable time, she’d used up her nights and days, and precious brain, all for one, all pervading purpose..

 

Today, she reminded herself, as Bernard nudged her in the side, and took her to the buffet. Today, she thought, as his eyes darted to and from her, even as another girl pressed into space, fluttering her eyelashes, and pressing her sizable bust against him. The punch bowl is already spiked, Jasper concludes, as a Look is enough to get Bernard free from the pouty girl, who immediately stumbles towards the next couple on the way, and embraces the female date, whispering lewd things to the stunned girl.

 

 _Today_ , she thinks, as he leads her away once again, to a corner of the room, before his eyes planted on the door, exit really, nearby, and he felt her fingers pulling at his belt, as she felt him huff with want, and felt him dragging her away towards the door, hunger in his eyes, and a shy desire to _please_ and make up for all she’s done under it all, sitting in the very crux of who he is, his one and now only true dogma.

 

 ** _Now_** , she thought, as Bernard locks the door behind him, and leans against it, looking lost and timid, and her enthusiasm building up and up and up _and up and **up**_ , as she leans towards him, and whispers a, “We should go and go somewhere more private.” Her voice is sultry, and low, and tickle primal instincts inside the boy, and he happily obliges, even as his fingers steal impressions of her flesh, and her own ministrations leave him weak kneed and breathless. It’s happening, _it’s finally happening,_ she registers, as they enter an alley, and she smashes him against the wall, and Bernard’s vertible dam unleashes, almost as soon as her own does.

 

When he pleads with her, when he _begs_ , with such big, delicious eyes, she reaches towards the zip of her dress, as her fingers skim over something cold, and harsh, and hard, and _metallic_ , and pull it out, pluck it out, as if it’s a supple, succulent fruit that must be taken before it rots on it’s very own tree, she smiles, her grin reaching towards her eyes, and making them look like dancing diamonds.

 

His eyes widen when they see her gift, her _child_ , her most beloved and only true friend, and he mouths something, and yells, arms flailing and eyes hurt and confused and even more confused and hurt, and he resists,  even as his voice grows wet and raw, and when red froth comes from his throat, coating his chin in the liquids of his own lungs. Even when she stabs him twelve times, his hands holding her wrists, and his howls quieting into raspy breaths, and stuttering to a stop, he is painted with impressions of lingering love, even as he plummets to the ground, and is dreadfully, and, utterly still.

 

He’s hers now, and will forever be.

  
From the moment Jasper Kinders saw Bernard Swanson, she knew he was the one: She knew he would be the first person she ever killed.

**Author's Note:**

> There we go folks. Initially, I got the idea for this fic from a tumblr post saying something along the lines of 'Imagine a young adult novel, with the first words being 'From the moment I saw him, she knew he was the one: The first person she was ever going to kill.' ' From there on, it evolved into *this* and well..I've have worse ideas. I've had worse ones.


End file.
